Can't Save Myself
by MeredithBrody
Summary: In the wake of Baitfish's return, the three NCIS agents reflect on their thoughts. (pre-1x22 - spoilers through the end of s1)


**It's been a oneshot bonanza in Shin's brain this week. Now, this has a story behind it. PinkAngel17 and I have been thinking about these lyrics (particularly the second set) for days, and neither of us could figure out what to write. I was listening to the song tonight and this came about. It's horrifically angsty pre-finale stuff. Pride and LaSalle's sections are both related to Baitfish, while Brody's is a little more general. As always, please read and review. I'm sure I'll stop having a billion oneshots soon. I'm just procrastinating on planning my next multi-chapter. The song is " _Can't Save Myself_ " by As It Is. Thanks as ever.  
** **Shin xx**

* * *

 _ **A single breath (in empty lungs)  
That's all I got left (gasping for air)  
And a bad idea branded in my brain I can't seem to shake  
Another day (in tired skin)  
I shed and fray (far from desire)  
'Til all I am is textbook misery and my own mistakes (my own mistakes)**_

* * *

 _Pride_

There were days where Dwayne Pride felt like he couldn't breathe. His lungs just wouldn't expand and he couldn't seem to catch even one single breath. He would sit back and focus on his breathing, focus on taking one breath in and letting one breath out and hoped that that would be enough to keep him breathing. His lungs felt like they were empty and forcing the air in and out of them was going to cause more of a problem, but h had to keep going. He had to end this.

Simply put, that was all he had left. Linda hadn't been able to deal with the consequences of his job any longer, and he didn't blame her, she hadn't signed up for this. She'd signed up for a husband who wasn't in danger every day, and who wasn't to blame for the deaths of more than a dozen people.

That was the simple fact. Baitfish was his fault. Hamilton had been right about that, and it was an idea that Pride couldn't get out of his head. He should shake it off but he couldn't. He was trying, desperately trying, but he just couldn't shake it. If he hadn't allowed Baitfish out, made him an informant, there would be a dozen people still on the planet. LaSalle would still have Savannah, and he wouldn't be the broken mess he was now.

He was tired, everything about him was tired, and as another day dawned on him he thought about how tired he felt. He was tired of waking up and studying that wall. No matter of how long he'd slept, he'd spend a half an hour looking at the case, hoping that something new would come to him. So far all that had happened was that Pride had gotten more tired, and had had lest rest that had actually mattered to him.

Pacing around definitely wasn't helping, and while Brody and LaSalle had helped in some ways, they had pointed out connections he might have missed and Brody's contacts at the FBI had gotten them names that they might not have gotten otherwise, he didn't want to bring them in any further. There was a chance that Baitfish would have happily killed Christopher, or both of them, had Christopher been at home when Baitfish had been there. That was a situation Pride couldn't think about. He wasn't sure he was ready to think about losing his sidekick.

Truthfully, he was certain that however long he stayed here and focused on these cases, this case, he would never be able to work it out to the standard he wanted. He was pushing himself further into his miserable mood, and he knew it. he also didn't know how to push himself out of it. He had made so many mistakes, and he really didn't need to think about them anymore. He couldn't stop though, they were going around his mind, and the last thing he could do was save himself.

* * *

 _ **And as I've aged the only thing I think has changed  
Is that the demons have moved from under my bed  
Into the inner depths of my head  
I can't escape the ugly things my mind creates  
I speculate that they'll stay with me 'til the grave**_

* * *

 _Brody_

Meredith Brody reflected on her life and things that she remembered as long as she could. No matter who she'd been and what she'd been doing, some things had always been the same. She had always had these issues, and when he was a child she had been able to play them off. Now she was an adult she realised nothing at all had changed. She still had those problems, and they didn't seem to be going away any time soon. She'd aged and expected some kind of wisdom or explanation to some, but none had. Not a single thing.

When she'd been a child, the bad thoughts, the nightmares, had always been caused by someone or something else. It had always been the demons under her bed. The ghouls and goblins. Emily had liked to make a story out of them, and she would call them "Merri's sad thoughts". Back then it had been a fun game, even though some of the thoughts had been awful for her, and she had hated having them. Blaming them on the demons was not always enough. But she'd been young, and she hadn't wanted the blame for the thoughts she couldn't control.

Now she was an adult and she knew better. The thoughts that had been caused by the ghouls, goblins and demons hadn't actually been caused by anything supernatural. They had been caused by young Meredith's desire for control and her tendency to overthink everything. She hated that she still did that, because now she knew that those demons actually lived in the depths of her mind, as far down as they possibly could. She could try and exorcise them, but she would likely not succeed, and it would just end up with another huge failure that she could focus on.

She had always had nightmares. As long as she could remember her mind had created worst case scenario images and played them on repeat in her mind. Sometimes it was the worst case for schooling, she'd failed a test, or missed a game, or done something that had damaged her chances. Other times had been family tragedy. Having lived through one of those she hoped that she'd never have to live through it again. Now she was here in New Orleans she had seen her teammates and her friends in those dreams. The one theme in all of them was that she'd failed, and people had died.

The only thing she was absolutely certain of was that those images would stay with her for the rest of her life. She couldn't escape them, because they had burrowed into her mind and settled themselves there. The deepest recesses were filled with her nightmares and visions of losing the people she loved most. They would be with her until she was being lowered into the ground, and while she hated it, she could also live with it. She wished that she could stop them, but the truth was, she couldn't save herself.

* * *

 _ **In broken bones (a half-hearted smile)  
I feel at home (I'm proud of nothing)  
I tend to get attached so quick to all I've ever known (all I've ever known)  
But I don't seem to know a single fucking thing that can save me  
I'm my own worst enemy  
Is there any hope for me?**_

* * *

 _LaSalle_

The pain helped him feel alive, right now. It was the fastest way for him to realise that he could still feel something. He knew that injuring himself wasn't the way to go, nor was the anger that he was letting consume him. It was not a good idea, but it was all he could do. Baitfish had taken Savannah, and that had meant that he wasn't really sure what he wanted to do, or what he could do. All he knew was that when he felt his broken bones, he felt something.

Somehow, pain had become home for him. There were things he could have done, but he also couldn't, and he didn't feel like he deserved to be proud of anything. He hadn't been able to protect someone close to him, the closest he let someone in. He regretted that he hadn't made it home earlier, maybe he could have saved her.

All his life there had been one thing that he'd been accused of. He got attached to things quickly, and he stayed attached to them. No matter what it was or where it was, he was attached. He was still attached to their first home in New Orleans, despite the fact it had been all but destroyed in Katrina, and nobody had had the money to restore it. He was still attached to his time in Vice. He was attached to the NCIS office, and everyone who worked inside it. He was even attached to Sebastian and Patton, even if he really didn't understand the two of them most of the time.

In this situation though, he didn't have a clue what he could do, or what he should do. the first thing he knew was that he was going to go home, back to 'Bama, and go to Savannah's funeral. It was his fault such an even needed to be held, but he would go and he'd stand there and he'd speak about how much he'd loved her. Then he would try, desperately, to find something to save him.

He wouldn't though, he knew that already. He was his own worst enemy, and he had been for as long as he could remember. He put others first and ended up losing sight of what was important to him. That was a problem he'd had before, but he would probably never have it again. This had changed him for the worse, and he wondered why that didn't bother him.

Questions span around his head that he'd never answer, the biggest one that seemed to repeat was wondering if there was any hope at all for him. Right now he couldn't imagine anything sweeping in and saving him, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be worth saving now. It wasn't that Savannah died, but the fact that he should have been there to protect her, to keep her safe. He hadn't been, and that was unforgivable. Therefore there wasn't really reason to hope. He couldn't save himself.

* * *

 _ **I can't help the way my mind is hardwired  
To hate myself  
'Cause I swear that this is hell  
The way I desperately try to save myself  
But I can't save myself**_


End file.
